I'm getting warmer.
The past ten months have been chaotic in almost every which way, but let's isolate just one aspect for now. I've really struggled to coordinate with universities in India for a very long time now. Application processes, timelines and access to information regarding these very important details have been next to impossible to nail down. We certainly do things quite differently in the way that we apply for higher education in the US. In the US, you can expect to get almost all of your questions answered through a university website. This has not been true in the least in my experience with Indian universities. So I'm learning as I go. And today is an optimistic day. It's now three minutes into July 11th. Classes at my university of choice in India begin on August 8th. I have no admissions letter, no visa, no scholarship money, no flight ticket, no idea what date I'll leave, I'm officially unemployed, and I have no place to live post-July 31st. My making it to India seems to hinge on obtaining a simple (and unnecessary, in my red, white and blue opinion) high school transcript. Who knew? You know - Just in case I got through college and earned a Bachelor of Science degree without truly making it through high school.
A dozen times a day I'm asked by friends, family and aquaintances when it is that I'm leaving and I impishly respond with a big fat IDK. And every time I part with company, we go through the same schpeel about whether it's our last goodbye or not. But I'm onto something, I think. My school of choice is so great to work with. I've found one school (of dozens I've researched and contacted) where the faculty and staff patiently listen to me as I attempt to enunciate my queries over the telephone sans Wisconsin accent. They are so gracious and patient. They know my name when I call. They have an application requirement, however, which is leading me on quite the scavenger hunt. I must gather all of my high school and college diplomas, transcripts and accreditation information and take it to the Indian Consulate in Chicago where they will "attest" the documents. That's some sort of verification/signature thing, I believe. I then must mail it all off to New Delhi to an educational body which will determine the equivalency of my education in India. Mailing something like this to India takes about 7 days minimum for a cost of about $65. I'm such a cheap-ass so paying that much to mail a manila envelope twists me up inside. Once they make the equivalency determination, they must send their findings to the university in Kerala (probably like mailing something from New York to California, with some added random, unforeseeable inefficiencies). Only then can they offer me a provisional admission letter, which I need in order to apply for my visa (which takes another 8-12 days to process) and scholarship funds to be released to my bank account. One stinking high school transcript determines my fate.
Last week I drove up to my mom's to dig through her basement for my high school and college diplomas. I was devastated to find that my college diploma was MIA. By a stroke of luck and assistance of another kind soul, I found it two days later (such sweet, glorious relief!). But now I'm missing this dumb transcript. And I called and requested it two weeks ago and have been leaving messages ever since to try to find out what the hold up is. It's probably scribbled on a Post-It Note on the corner of someone's piled-up desk, waiting to be attended to by a guidance counselor in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. So, instead of driving to Chicago tomorrow to figure this out, I think I'm Oshkosh-bound. Ah, it sounds like the dreamiest of road trips. Though I'm being sarcastic, I have reached a point where almost anything feels nostalgic along my path each day, as I know that I'll long for even the simplest comforts of home at some point when I'm gone. So maybe I just might enjoy a drive through the corn fields, a trip to Leon's Frozen Custard, a jaunt through the old Pick N Save to see who never made it out, and a cruise past the home of my first 17 years of growing as I wonder what the Jessica of then would think of the Jessica of now. She had no idea of the rousings she was to stir up in life.
Sometimes it's as if this document procurement labyrinth is part of the farewell process. A demand to experience home and loved ones for the last times before I go. A chance to pause and intermittently appreciate the small, familiar, often-overlooked things despite the chaos all around.
The past ten months have been chaotic in almost every which way, but let's isolate just one aspect for now. I've really struggled to coordinate with universities in India for a very long time now. Application processes, timelines and access to information regarding these very important details have been next to impossible to nail down. We certainly do things quite differently in the way that we apply for higher education in the US. In the US, you can expect to get almost all of your questions answered through a university website. This has not been true in the least in my experience with Indian universities. So I'm learning as I go. And today is an optimistic day. It's now three minutes into July 11th. Classes at my university of choice in India begin on August 8th. I have no admissions letter, no visa, no scholarship money, no flight ticket, no idea what date I'll leave, I'm officially unemployed, and I have no place to live post-July 31st. My making it to India seems to hinge on obtaining a simple (and unnecessary, in my red, white and blue opinion) high school transcript. Who knew? You know - Just in case I got through college and earned a Bachelor of Science degree without truly making it through high school.
A dozen times a day I'm asked by friends, family and aquaintances when it is that I'm leaving and I impishly respond with a big fat IDK. And every time I part with company, we go through the same schpeel about whether it's our last goodbye or not. But I'm onto something, I think. My school of choice is so great to work with. I've found one school (of dozens I've researched and contacted) where the faculty and staff patiently listen to me as I attempt to enunciate my queries over the telephone sans Wisconsin accent. They are so gracious and patient. They know my name when I call. They have an application requirement, however, which is leading me on quite the scavenger hunt. I must gather all of my high school and college diplomas, transcripts and accreditation information and take it to the Indian Consulate in Chicago where they will "attest" the documents. That's some sort of verification/signature thing, I believe. I then must mail it all off to New Delhi to an educational body which will determine the equivalency of my education in India. Mailing something like this to India takes about 7 days minimum for a cost of about $65. I'm such a cheap-ass so paying that much to mail a manila envelope twists me up inside. Once they make the equivalency determination, they must send their findings to the university in Kerala (probably like mailing something from New York to California, with some added random, unforeseeable inefficiencies). Only then can they offer me a provisional admission letter, which I need in order to apply for my visa (which takes another 8-12 days to process) and scholarship funds to be released to my bank account. One stinking high school transcript determines my fate.
Last week I drove up to my mom's to dig through her basement for my high school and college diplomas. I was devastated to find that my college diploma was MIA. By a stroke of luck and assistance of another kind soul, I found it two days later (such sweet, glorious relief!). But now I'm missing this dumb transcript. And I called and requested it two weeks ago and have been leaving messages ever since to try to find out what the hold up is. It's probably scribbled on a Post-It Note on the corner of someone's piled-up desk, waiting to be attended to by a guidance counselor in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. So, instead of driving to Chicago tomorrow to figure this out, I think I'm Oshkosh-bound. Ah, it sounds like the dreamiest of road trips. Though I'm being sarcastic, I have reached a point where almost anything feels nostalgic along my path each day, as I know that I'll long for even the simplest comforts of home at some point when I'm gone. So maybe I just might enjoy a drive through the corn fields, a trip to Leon's Frozen Custard, a jaunt through the old Pick N Save to see who never made it out, and a cruise past the home of my first 17 years of growing as I wonder what the Jessica of then would think of the Jessica of now. She had no idea of the rousings she was to stir up in life.
Sometimes it's as if this document procurement labyrinth is part of the farewell process. A demand to experience home and loved ones for the last times before I go. A chance to pause and intermittently appreciate the small, familiar, often-overlooked things despite the chaos all around.
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